


You Are Yours, And I Am Mine, And I Hoped We Could Make A World For Us

by PrefectMoony



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Artist Ronan, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sex, Sex Worker Adam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21591712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrefectMoony/pseuds/PrefectMoony
Summary: “So are we gonna get to the part where you get laid or….”There goes his face again, a burning scarlet. Adam can barely wrestle down the smile threatening to break across his own.“Eager are we,” Ronan says, gaze averted, the only tell to his obvious distress being his shaking hands.“Just want to make sure that you stay  alive long enough for your grand opening,” Adam winks. And this part is easy, the game of it all. He knows what ways to move, to show off the best contours and angles of his body. He knows how to transform his voice to a husky drawl, and how to trace his fingers across bare skin— a whisper, a promise for something more. He’s always excelled in this, in the catching. Has been intriguing to the eyes of onlookers for as long as he could remember. He knows how to pick up on what the clients want, he knows how to make them come true. He knows his job here.Through Hardships to the stars.ORIn Which Adam is an escort, Ronan is a gallery owner and they stumble into something like love.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 56
Kudos: 143





	1. All The Places We Will GO

**Author's Note:**

  * For [henriettahoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/henriettahoney/gifts).



> Title inspired by a poem by hella-james 
> 
> Em!!! My love my girl my joy! I adore you to absolute bits and I am so so so happy I get to gift this to you!!! 
> 
> I love you to bits babey, and I'm sorry I can't write any better :S

Adam sucks in deep the second the needle of the gun hits his skin, searing and constant and a different sort of pain than what he’s accustomed to. The offbeat parlor is small, bit dank, but he liked the artist who guided him towards the back and smiled brightly at the slip of paper with the quote that he had constantly heard Liliana recite. Hell even if he didn’t like’m, Adam would’ve come here, would’ve been determined to just fucking bite the bullet and do something reckless something slightly petulant, something that’s completely his own decision. 

The artist picks up the gun, and wipes off the blood with a tissue, but Adam determinedly keeps his eyes focussed away from the sight, wants to behold it once it’s finished, once he’s really and truly marked himself with what he wants painted onto his skin. A permanent reminder of Adam’s self determination, his free will. A reminder that no matter what he’s his own man, nothing can fucking change that.

His gaze flickers from some of the designs scattered against the wall, to where a gaggle of college girls are taking turns getting matching roses prickled onto their wrists, and lands on a fear ridden Blue, bottom lip worried between her teeth and arms crossed against her chest and her eyes regarding Adam with the same caution and confusion and compassion that they have since his dad quite literally beat the hearing out of Adam’s left ear. Since he refused to just move into Fox Way like some charity case. Since he instead took up residency in some dingy ass apartment above the Catholic church up town and began making a steady stream of cash, refusing to tell Blue of just how he’s managing it while also taking courses at the community college and filling his shifts at Nino’s, even if he knows that she’s got a nagging suspicion. 

Adam doesn’t want to disappoint her, but he can’t care. He has plans. He has a fucking future damn it. A future of living in some high-rise penthouse in DC or New York or maybe even London. He’s going to George Town or Yale or what the fuck ever. He’s gonna be someone great, someone important. He won’t let this town swallow him hole, he fucking refuses.

“I’m done.” The blonde artist says, swiping on some cream and pressing in the bandaid to Adam’s inner thigh, right above the quote.

”Per aspera ad astra.” Blue says, slow and understanding.

“It’s cool man,” the worker grins. “What does it mean?”

Adam hands over the exuberant amount of cash, tugs up his pants and swallows deep.

“Through hardships to the stars.”

.-

On Adam’s first day at the agency— a scared seventeen year old who was really nothing but skin and bones— Liliana had been the first person to smile at him void of malice, just a tinge of pity— of understanding. She had given him the ring he thumbs at now, one with an infinity symbol carved in the inside, one that’s probably worth more than the downpayment on most homes.

“Stole it from one of the Johns,” she had explained with that same, sorrowful lifting of the lips, her voice airy and knowing all at once. “Looks better on you than that prick.”

It only barely stays on Adam’s thumb— still slipping off if he’s not careful. He’s never been very big, not excessively muscular or especially broad. He supposes part of that has to do with his being brought up in a home where a decent meal was hard to come by on a weekly basis, let alone one every day. Though it’s also probably got to do with how he’s always favored his mother’s physique, even when he finally made enough money to finally start weighing enough that his yearly physician doesn’t have to cut a worried, pale glance his way anymore. The website calls him wiry— lean but lithe. They also call him peculiarly pretty, but aloof. and a bunch of other adjectives he either laughs at with a raucous Liliana, or sneers at in the middle of the night, feeling like some fucking Russian mail order bride. Those are the nights when he feels especially disgusted by the metaphorical underground in which this sort of business is conducted. When he’s sick to his stomach even looking at himself in the mirror. The nights he fucking hates the men and women who reckon that a few bills exchanged from them to some other suits is enough to have Adam for the night. To ogle him. To dominate him. To fucking own him.

He’s not for fucking sale. He’s not staying here. He’s not.

Through hardships to the stars.

Adam takes another deep inhale, fastens tight Liliana’s ring, and continues his track down the paved path winding through the eastern end of Henrietta, the side of town that looks like another DC suburb. old but not ancient, proud with a Distinctly American regality. The homes here are reserved with their opulence, nothing too extravagant or gaudy to show off. Everyone in this cul-de-sac knows that they’re made out of money, knows that their neighbors are too. There is no grandiose facade they need to hold up. If Adam’s not shipped off to DC then he’s here, it’s not really a surprise. 

He remembers being a little kid— wide eyed and unsure and always a bit prepared for the worst— back when he use to marvel around these parts, skulking around the pristine Aglionby Academy and befriending the imposing Maple tree in the best alcove right near a crystal clear lake and how he use to dream of moving out the trailer park and to make a home here. He use to imagine being able to afford Robert and Claudia a house too, making them finally proud of him, making them finally want him as a son, to look at him with love over distain. What Adam hadn’t realized as a kid is that the beatings weren’t just rage filled benders, they were to remind him that he was worthless, that he was born here in Henrietta, and thus was his destiny. When Adam was thirteen he had a girlfriend who once described him, while tittering, that he was the shades of this town. His bright blue eyes its sky, and his golden brown hair the soil in the spring months, and the tan of his skin the pavement of the streets. She had thunk it a cute observation and Adam didn’t have it in him to think it as anything worth caring about, but now he thinks back to it and feels a severe twisting to his gut over the accuracy. He was birthed from the dust and ashes of this place, enveloped in its eery beauty, and bound to its limits. The prodigal son to its history of mediocrity. He was never seen as one of the lucky few that could actually make it out, not even one of those living in this part of town— the bored business types who figure that Henrietta’s a convenient option over DC proper.

But no, Adam needs to stop this line of thought right now. He can’t go into a job already this pissy, it’s never well advised to bring any sort of emotion into a meeting, it’s not how Adam rolls. Besides, today is an important visit considering that the last one scheduled for him was canceled when the bloke’s wife ended up coming home early from whichever Island she was vacationing within. Adam needs to make sure this visit goes splendidly less he gets a talking to from one of the higher-ups. That hadn’t happened since his first few months at the agency when he was still frazzled and scared and unwilling to fucking adapt, the threats they waged were clear enough for Adam to get his shit together and never have to speak with them again. He intends on keeping up the trend.

Counting up and down from ten— trying to get a hold of his emotions— Adam strolls up the drive of the refurbished manufacturing building near the campus of the private school, the name Monmouth plastered prominently on its front door. Mechanically, Adam reapplies his face that betrays no emotions, and squares his shoulders before knocking.

The boy that answers— because that’s precisely what he is, a boy, hell probably no older than Adam himself— isn’t the typical John. Adam’s clientele is made up of spiteful divorcees seeking arm candy and a good ride, or repressed fucks sneaking around behind the dutiful blonde housewives they married to keep up appearances. Occasionally it’s a married couple watching one of them getting fucked by Adam, but rarely, if ever, are they young, objectively good looking, people who look like there’s something squirming right beneath their skin.

It’s sort of precious.

“Ronan?” He asks lightly, a fair brow cocked and expression unaffected by the near hungry way the dude’s pale blue eyes run up and down Adam’s person. The memo had said that this client, this Ronan L, wanted it discrete, liked a more casual appearance. Adam’s glad that the light-wash skinny jeans and the tight red henley he had picked out seem to be doing just the job.

“Ah, erm yeah, yeah. I’m Ronan, and you’re….”

“Freezing,” Adam says cooly, the early February weather making him shiver as if on queue.

Ronan scrambles to the side, near frantic, as he ushers Adam indoors with sputtering, half formed apologies.

“Ah, so do you also have a name?”

“Stefan,” Adam replies, calm and natural. He’s not dumb, he would never give up his name to a John, not even objectively attractive ones who are his age.

“That’s a lie,” Ronan sniffs, brows furrowed and head tipped loftily.

“Does it matter what my name is?” Adam counters, unfazed as he saunters up to him, peering into Ronan’s pale blue eyes through his own lashes, knows that it’s seductive enough and innocent enough to work every time. Keep them horny and you don’t have to worry about dodging their questions love, Liliana had advised, playful lilt to her words and winking up at him before tracing on a dark liner to his eyelids.

“Jesus Christ,”” Ronan catches his breath, face flushed, a hand rubbing over his shaved head. Adam thinks idly that this dude really is so very attractive, nice square jaw, good cheekbones and such big, big eyes. He looks like what Adam would expect to see on the cover of those Harlequin romance novels that Luanne Benson two trailer downs would read while Adam fixed up her engine for some spare cash.

He must be in the closet, Adam decides. No way this dude, in his black muscle T that emphasizes his fantastically built shoulders, topping off his toned arms, and skinny jeans to show off his admittedly amazing ass, couldn’t get just about anyone he set his sights on. It suddenly makes Adam very sad, sad that he thinks he has to hide himself like this— hiring some escort just to get what he really wants. But then he just pushes it aside, that’s not his job to deal with that sort of damage. His job is to help him forget that there was shit worth feeling sorry about in the first place. 

“That’s not my name either,” Adam needles, breezy as he deposited himself on the dude’s sectional.

“Hah, didn’t say on there that you had a sense of humor,” Ronan says, a bit derisive, as he walks over to the kitchen counter, grabbing a drink. Adam thinks that if the tension still woven into his posture is anything to go by, the dude’s gonna need it.

“Is this how you charm all the people you want to get naked?” Adam replies, probably a mistake to continue down this road of playful barbs, but he’s tired and again, this guy really is precious. 

Ronan’s face goes a fetching red while offering Adam the beer, a fancy, locally brewed brand. 

“I don’t do this, i’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve had sex. of course I have. I’ve had loads of that, i just mean— I’ve never— You know, like it’s not my style.”

Adam only hums , nodding along absently before taking a swig. He doesn’t know if it’s the truth, nor does he care. He seriously has never understood the folks who hire him for a specific limit of time and waste a good chunk of it trying to explain themselves, like Adam was some sort of priest and they were at confessional trying to prove that they aren’t bad people. But that’s the thing, Adam’s never thought them necessarily bad, they were all consenting adults, they had money and Adam needed it, he just hated the structure of it, the idea that it was two people over Adam’s head brokering these deals that included him and his naked body.

But whatever, this Ronan L is more likely than not completely oblivious to all the going ons to the actual business behind this, and Adam’s pretty sure he wouldn’t want to hear about it even if he wasn’t. So like a good, pretty little slut, Adam just nods along and agrees at the right intervals, and flexes the right amount to show off just how gorgeous he is, how much Ronan must want him.

“You don’t believe me,” Ronan charges after nearly ten minutes of this.

“Does it matter if i did,” Adam blurts, wincing the moment the words leave his lips. He’s so dumb, forgetting the power imbalance here. Ronan could easily just kick him to the curve, call up the agency and rant and rave about how much of a smart ass Adam is— it’s been threatened to him more than once by a few different hires.

Thankfully, that doesn’t happen. Ronan instead just begins to cackle out a real sort of laugh— sharp and booming— taking the seat across from him— still too afraid to touch.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ve heard it all before, but I’m telling you man, it’s true. The only reason why I even called is because my friend— or erm I guess business partner, her name’s Hennessy.”

“Like the beverage?” Adam asks, eyes blinking owlishly.

“Don’t tell her that man, or else she’ll have a conniption,” Ronan warns. 

“Cryptic warning taken.”

“Yeah Well she got fucking sick of my apparent pissy attitude and practically shoved the number in my hands, told me to either find a hot dude to screw before our galleries grand opening, or she’d kill me in cold blood.”

Not in the closet then…. Maybe just lazy and wealthy, like all the others. Adam can admit that it’s a disappointing revelation.

“And you chose the one that gets you laid and keeps her out of jail, smart,” Adam says in a mock magnanimous tone, takes another sip of the beer even if it tastes like actual fucking dirt. 

“Yeah, I suppose,” Ronan snorts. 

“So are we gonna get to the part where you get laid or….”

There goes his face again, a burning scarlet. Adam can barely wrestle down the smile threatening to break across his own.

“Eager are we,” Ronan says, gaze averted, the only tell to his obvious distress being his shaking hands.

“Just want to make sure that you stay alive long enough for your grand opening,” Adam winks. And this part is easy, the game of it all. He knows what ways to move, to show off the best contours and angles of his body. He knows how to transform his voice to a husky drawl, and how to trace his fingers across bare skin— a whisper, a promise for something more. He’s always excelled in this, in the catching. Has been intriguing to the eyes of onlookers for as long as he could remember. He knows how to pick up on what the clients want, he knows how to make them come true. He knows his job here.

Through Hardships to the stars.

All this to say, Adam doesn’t think twice before tossing his bottle to the side and padding closer to a still sitting Ronan. He knows full and well the way Ronan’s insides must be clenched together when Adam puts a ginger hand on Ronan’s closely cropped buzzcut, canting his hips forwards only slightly so that Ronan’s nose grazes against Adam’s hard stomach. Smooth and effortless, Adam scratches down Ronan’s head, tracing against his heated neck, and slips into Ronan’s shirt, pads of his fingers gliding over the tattooed skin there.

It’s an entirely new feeling indeed when Adam actually wants to peek inside, to see the artwork against his skin fully, just for the hell of it.

“Consider it my civic duty,” Adam says lowly, effectively dragging Ronan out of whichever trance he seems to have been lost within. 

“Oh, erm. Thank you, thanks. For making sure I’m still alive I mean…”

so very precious.

“Don’t mention it big guy. So you have a room in this place or-“

“Yes!” Ronan bounces up with a sudden fervency, so quick that Adam has to step back a bit so not to bump noses with him. “Yeah I do.”

He points to the only open door of the trio, and Adam just nods, ready to get the show on the road, afraid of how endearing he’s starting to find Ronan L.

.-

The room is large and cluttered and probably a perfect manifestation of how this guy thinks. 

Adam remembers his old room back in the trailer park, which honestly is a stress considering that at most it was a corner somewhat concealed by a drab shower curtain. His only toys were an old hot wheels car and a transformer, both minuscule and easy to tuck away from being broken if Robert started thrashing his fists, or if Claudia was feeling especially vindictive. He use to convince himself that he was thankful for not owning much of anything, that it taught him how to be tight and thrifty when he grew up. But sometimes that lie begins to get worn, and Adam begins to long for a life composed of the trinkets and metals and good memories he reckons this Ronan L has had a world. full of. 

“I—I’m sorry I didn’t clean up,” Ronan says, abashed sounding.

“I’ve seen worse,” Adam tells him, not completely honest. His usual visits were to swanky hotels with room service available at the press of a button, or a huge mansion filled to the brim with on call staff. But Adam doesn’t mind the mess, finds it honest, likes that its tangible— that it’s real. Adam’s not just some shameful secret for the night, someone to savor for a few hours before tossing away like leftovers.

But no that’s exactly what he is. He needs to get a fucking grip. What would Lilliana toot now? Watching him getting all soft over a pretty face. 

THey’re all the same at the end of the day my love, nothing more and nothing less.

“So how do you like it?” Adam asks, is intent on refocussing his goals, on getting the job done.

Ronan purses his lips, eyes anywhere but at Adam. So he supposes that he’s gonna have to coax this out of him.

“Why don’t you just get on the bed then, let me take control for a while.” He intones, words full of intent.

Ronan perks up, if only slightly, but he nods near vigorous as he crawls far enough onto the king sized mattress that his back hits the headboard. 

“Nice boy,” Adam swaggers up to him, tugs on Ronan’s shirt until he gets the hint and takes it off, showing off the long expanse of pale skin, only interrupted by the nearly vindictive splash of color by his tattoo.

“You, you’re beautiful.” Ronan says as if reading Adam’s mind. His eyes are wide, probably not realizing what’s spilling out of his lips. “They didn’t show your picture or anything, but when you got here— God you’re beautiful.”

It’s Adam’s turn for his cheeks to begin to infuse with color, but he just staves off the emotions. He’s been told that countless times by countless people, it shouldn’t be different just because it’s this particular dude— Ronan fucking L— that’s saying it. 

“You’re sweet,” is how Adam decides to respond, pushing Ronan back so that he’s practically lying down, and Adam could more easily saddle around his hips, rocking forwards so to get some friction going while his hands begin to massage around Ronan’s hard chest— Adam can sense Ronan’s heated gaze on him the entire time, feels something warm and ravenous unfurling deep inside.

“You like this Ronan? Being handled?” Adam asks, calmly, dips down to put one of Ronan’s nipples between his teeth, lapping around it with his tongue before biting. The way Ronan arches his back, and wraps his arms around Adam’s still clothed torso— pressing him closer and closer and closer still— tells him that it was the right decision. 

“I bet you don’t get pampered like this very often big guy, huh?” Adam’s voice is a low drawl, barely above a whisper as his lips trace the lines of Ronan’s hard stomach, kissing the hollows and planes there, before he noses at the light patch of hair leading down towards his groin.

The noise Ronan makes in turn is indecipherable, but still makes it sound like there’s a legion of bells ringing in Adam’s ears.

Slowly, Adam thumbs open the button on his jeans, rubs a hand against Ronan’s rapidly hardening cock. 

“How do you want me baby,” Adam asks again, softer, with more patience. Adam is fucking good at this, he’s gonna make it fucking good for this apparently pissy, work addict who first looked at Adam and thought beautiful. 

“I want, I want to feel me inside of you,” Ronan pleads, words coming out a gargled mess of longing. 

“Mmm,” Adam nods, begins to slink off his own pants before Ronan gently swats him away.

“Let me?”, Ronan begs, and well what’s Adam suppose to do? Deny the client? No of course not, he’s meant here to be a willing and flexible prop to whatever they want, whatever will make them feel good. So that’s exactly what he’ll do. Adam goes pliant, lets Ronan sit up and drink him in with thirsty eyes and hungry hands and a taut wanting in the space between them. 

He pulls down Adam’s pants and briefs in one foul swoop, accepts the help from Adam to tug them off his ankles too. Adam watches as Ronan’s tongue darts out, licking his lips with his eyes laser focussed on Adam’s dick. It’s not very thick, but long enough that it always receives some sort of reaction, but Adam’s always reenable to just slide those off without a care, he’s never felt his stomach clench with a distinct sort of pleasure, or never really felt it when the blood began rushing to his cock by a look alone. Unsure, but obviously desperately wanting it, Ronan raises his hand to Adam’s dick, only puts his hand to it when Adam rolls his eyes, tells him that it’s not fucking Pretty Woman before he thrusts forwards for Ronan’s hand to slide up against the shaft.

Adam’s nerves spike up with adrenaline, and he can’t quite regulate his breaths anymore.

“Beautiful,” he-hears Ronan mutter again, which then makes him start feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the whole situation. 

Adam starts to shed off his henley, forgets how this morning another John had been playing a little too wild and a little too loose, throwing Adam against the wall before fucking into him with little regard. It’s still tender when Ronan, someone so utterly unlike the rest of them— tugs it off, but the frown he pins Adam with tells him that he caught onto the pained grimace.

“Biking accident,” Adam is quick to explain away— a whole childhood worth of these very same excuses— He prays that Ronan will just take the explanation and move on, knows how much the clients hate it when they’re reminded that they’re not the only one, that they’re not that special. When they remember that Adam’s nothing more than a pretty little whore who’d happily fuck into anyone with the right amount of zeroes on their checkbook.

Adam doesn’t think that Ronan’s stupid, so he’s surprised when he just shrugs one of those glorious shoulders, thumbing at the purpling spot all the same.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, words muffled and gaze down on his own croch. 

“Yeah, yeah course you can.”

.-

For the next quarter of an hour that’s all they do, both naked and hungry and selfishly taking all the other has to give with slow lips and unhurried tongues.

He’s a good kisser— hard and tender and deliciously devouring— would be a better one if there were less spit, but somehow that endears Adam to him even more. It makes him feel like the typical college student he should be, just having a fun night with his date who’s a bit excited but still so fucking hot.

Every few minutes or so Adam has to inwardly prick himself, remind himself that this isn’t a date, that it’s a job and he needs to make it a good one damn it. 

Pulling away with a few more final pecks, Adam brackets Ronan in with his arms on either side of him, both their dicks painfully hard and Ronan’s eyes glazed over. 

“You’re so pretty, you know that?” Adam asks him, making Ronan flush. “You still wanna be inside me?” 

Ronan let’s out a choked out yes, and Adam kisses him one last time before pulling out the lube and condoms he always keeps in his pocket when he’s headed to a clients house, begins to lather his fingers up with it, smiles at how Ronan’s gazing at him with such naked need.

“Thought it’d be quicker if I did this part big guy, you don’t mind, right?” Adam asks, tenses his jaw when he feels his first finger entering inside of him, moves it around before adding a second. Thankfully this morning hasn’t left anything particularly tender and things go on as normal— except no they’re absolutely not normal considering how he feels so fucking excited to actually get to do this. He actually wants to fuck around with this boy, and wow, Adam’s nearly forgotten how good it feels to actually do the wanting.

Once he’s prepped, he glides over Ronan, gives another savage tug to his dick to make sure it’s still ready.

“You want me?” He asks, as if Ronan’s face weren’t answer enough.

“Please,” he says and Adam takes as the go ahead.

It’s always just a tad painful when he first slides down, especially one like Ronan’s— thick and long and pretty incredible, truly. Adam feels him stretching out his hole, hitting spots where it isn’t hurting, but it’s also so strange that Adam can’t necessarily enjoy it either. But that doesn’t matter, he’s only here to get a job done, and the blown pupils and ridiculously wondrous expression on Ronan’s face tells Adam that he’s doing something right. 

Frantic, Ronan begins to flutter his hands up and down Adam’s bare skin, thrusting upwards with every time Adam pushed down, words pouring out his lips, Exaltations of how beautiful Adam is, of his hands and his eyes and his lips. He starts screaming out “God,” and “thank you” and “yes, yes, Yes.” 

Adam takes it all with stride, but then it happens, Ronan hikes his hips up in the exact right breath and it hits the very edge of something raw and something splendid and something miraculous, and Adam can’t help but cry out in pleasure, but it only seems to be edging Ronan on, making him move faster, hitting that spot again and again and again, fucking him in earnest and making it so Adam’s breaths go shallow and his insides sing with a fearsome sort of pleasure, one that rung out longer than just a mere orgasm, one that kept Adam wanting and desperate and begging.

“Yes Ronan, harder, fucking harder. Fucking fuck me. Please!”

That’s when Ronan, suddenly ferocious and fierce and ready, collects Adam into his arms, flips them over so that they’re face to face and that Ronan’s on top, pounding into Adam with no real grace or rhythm but it’s enough to make Adam arch up, near begging.

“God yes,” Adam hates the wetness beginning to brim his eyes, but needs this, needs so much more of this, can’t handle not having it.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, so fucking good,” Ronan growls into his right ear, hot tendrils of breath skirting against Adam’s skin as Ronan pushes into him harder, faster, needier. 

“Yes, please Ronan. Yes!” Adam chokes out in a gasp. Three more short, and helpless thrusts and Ronan is spent, cumming into the condom that’s still inside of Adam before collapsing over him, breaths labored and clinging onto Adam like a lifeline.

“God you’re amazing.”

“Thanks,” Adam breathes, slips one of his hands between them to finish off. Ronan must feel it because he pulls away far enough— still firmly inside of him— and just watches. 

Adam flushes slightly with the attention, sucks in a breath when he feels Ronan’s thumb grazing and then pressing down on the bruise— too much of a particular spot on his bicep to be accidental. He glances upwards, finds Ronan’s darkened gaze, the rawness there, and he understands. He switches hands so that with every tug of pleasure he’s also feeling that slight, tender pain, a harsh dichotomy that makes Adam’s ribcage want to crack open with pure ecstasy, pure pleasure too. The pain spreads around his arm , black spots popping up around his vision, and he seeps in a breath at how overwhelming it all is.

Yes, yes. Please! Yes.

Ronan takes the disregarded hand, one cloaked in Adam’s pre cum and sweat and he puts it to his lips, kisses every finger and knuckle and takes in the scent of him, of them. That’s probably what takes Adam over the edge, what makes him shout out a “”Jesus,” before his orgasm washes over him, and Ronan holds him through the aftershocks, like this were some fucking Nicholas Sparks novel after all.

“That’s not my name either,” Ronan finally says when he’s pulled out of Adam and they’ve wiped up the mess and they’re just laying down staring at one another.

Adam stills for a moment, confused until he remembers their conversation from before. Suddenly, unexpectedly, Adam throws back his head in real true laughter, utterly charmed.

“You fucking prick.”

Ronan preens, absolutely delighted looking that he’s gotten a laugh out of him before he just snakes his arms around Adam’s torso and kisses him with abandon.

And oh, this is dangerous. This is far too dangerous.

.-

“I can order us some food?” Ronan offers a bit later, after they’ve both showered, and redressed, having found their way back to the living room once more. 

“It’s fine.” Adam intones.

“’s Not a big deal, I was hungry and there’s never any food in this place.”

“Not part of the contract,” Adam tells him, tries collecting himself, reminding himself how this is a fucking job and nothing more. 

God damn it.

Ronan frowns, decidedly glum looking at the reminder. 

“Oh, ah right.”

“You’ve already paid over the phone right?” Adam asks, slipping back on his Vans and shouldering his satchel. 

“Ah yeah, they told me to give you the other half in person?” Ronan answers, starting to look properly floundered.

“That’s usually how it goes,” Adam nods, ignoring the confusion and taking the white envelope from his hand, can’t make himself count out the bills in front of him, not like he would for others.

“So what? I’ll see you around?”

“Sure, it’s a small enough town.” Adam shrugs, gives an awkward wave of goodbye before he walks out the door.

And no, he won’t fucking let himself get all gloomy or distraught over some cute boy. It’s not in the plan. Adam does this for another year, at most, he makes enough money to except one of the offers from one of his dream schools, and he gets the fuck out of here. There’s no contingency plan or footnote or alternative that happens if he starts getting all goofily eyed over a cute gallery owner who was so desperate to get laid that he paid for it. 

That’s not the plan.

Through hardships to the stars.


	2. Tomorrow Could Be Something New

The first and only time Adam had ever went out to eat while living under his parent’s roof was when he was seven. He remembers it so distinctly in his mind’s eye even now. It had been his grandmother Sabrina’s birthday, visiting from some other small town in the middle of Northern Carolina. Robert had been showing off, acting like some sort of caricature of a perfect gentleman in front of the in-law— hand interlaced into Claudia’s own whenever they were near one another, while the other ruffled good naturedly in Adam’s mop of curls, all the while, a small, near reluctant, smile— had turned the corners of his thin lips— the same pair Adam had inherited from him. Adam, naive and hopeful and starved for the affection he now knew his parents could exhibit if they so wished— had been so beyond mirthful that entire stay, had foolishly thunk that everything would stay the same once his Grandmother left back home. 

On her final night, Robert had insisted on treating Sabrina out, showing off as if to prove he could provide for his family. The foursome had wondered into one of the nicer restaurants uptown, one where they seated you, and the lighting was welcoming and the staff were pleasant while giving out proper menus to the adults and a box of crayons with coloring sheets to Adam. 

He doesn’t remember the conversations happening around him, only his grandmother’s pale blue shawl, and the brightest smile he had ever seen Claudia sport, and how Robert would talk to him without a snarl already poised on his lips. Adam remembers that the eternal starvation he held for this— a family that had even a modicum of love that strung them together— was finally tempt down for that one delightful night, a dream world compared to his reality. But then the check came, Sabrina’s hands knotted in her shawl, Claudia’s pillar went sickly, and Robert glared at the paper as if he could sear a hole right through it. 

“Twenty bucks for those damn nuggets,” he had scoffed, gaze swiveled towards Adam with a menacing glint to them. Adam knew that glint well, hugged his arms around himself as if in preparation for the blows that wouldn’t come for hours later.

The bubble had burst and Adam felt as if he was drowning in the debris. 

“Gimme that,” quick enough that it made Adam flinch, Robert had snatched the plate still full of a good amount of fries and a few chicken strips, called over the unimpressed looking waiter and told them that Adam hadn’t liked the meal, that the kid could never make up his mind and that he just wanted it sent back to the kitchen. 

“Yes sir, of course.”

By the end of the night Adam’s grandmother had left, Robert had drunken half a six pack, and Adam went to bed still starving— starving for all of it.

He had come back to that restaurant after school the following Monday, explained who he was and offered to work in exchange for the pay his father owed them for that half a meal Adam had savored. 

“Kid it’s fine,” the manager on shift had clucked his tongue, looking more than uncomfortable about the ordeal. 

“Please mister,” Adam had implored, hated the thought of owing someone anything. The mirage of the perfect dad Robert could someday become had permanently fractured, and now Adam was sickened by the idea of ever becoming like him in any sort of conceivable way.

The older man, brows furrowed and hands clenching and unclenching like he didn’t know what to do with them, had finally relented, sent Adam to check everyone’s coats for an hour and a half, letting him keep the flush of tips garnered by his sweet smile and big eyes.

Adam appreciated it, had liked earning his own money, being responsible for himself, stepping up to the plate in ways Robert had never deigned to do. Adam’s a bit ashamed to admit it was also the first time he realized how his looks could work in tandem with his brains, how there were a myriad of ways he could escape Henrietta if he just learned how to bend without breaking.

.-

Melrose is the oldest hotel that Henrietta has got to offer, likes to boast that once upon a time a youthful and ebullient Van Buren had holidayed here frequently before taking up the mantel of president. There’s a gaggle of suit clad men and prettily smiling women infesting it’s largest ballroom, toasting the passing of some bill or the other that Adam physically couldn’t care less about, opts to just avert his lazy gaze from any barrage of questions shot his way while taking slow sips of his martini.

“Christ,” Greenmantle, a regular along with his wife— occasionally as a set but usually apart— chides at Adam with a scowl. “Could you look anymore fucking bored to be here.”

“Is that a challenge?” Adam asks with a single brow hiked, ignores the passing face of a head of blonde hair whom he helped get off a total of three times a month ago when her husband was back in there Utah district bribing their maid to get an abortion. 

“It would be if I didn’t know how dedicated you were to your work,” Greenmantle winks right then, its the first time all night Adam sees the boyish charm that must keep Piper interested in him.

“You’re not special,” he snorts, easy and blasé in the chastisement. It doesn’t feel bad thinking of Greenmantle as just another John— Not like the way it made his skin feel to tight for his body every time his mind drifted back to those pale eyes, and that lovely flush, and the claws and beaks that painted his artful angles and hard lines.

Ronan Fucking L.

It’s as if every one of Adam’s free moments— and the occupied ones too— were littered with that name. His face. With the near risible glee he had made Adam feel and the undue security he had inspired the moment his arms wrapped around Adam’s torso. How afterwards he had kissed the freckles spilled over Adam’s shoulders, the way he never told him to get the fuck out before his actual lover comes around.

It had been too soft, not what Adam was accustomed to. Not what Adam let himself get accustomed to. He just got distracted by the guy actually being the type Adam would willingly choose to take home one night. He was behaving like a brainless bastard. Adam should’ve just walked in, gotten fucked, and walked right out again. Adam shouldn’t have sat down to talk with him. Adam shouldn’t have been slow with it— not that slow anyways. Adam sure as hell shouldn’t have called him beautiful, as if they were in some sort of fucking Bronte love story. 

And now he’s stuck thinking about this Ronan L, as if they could ever really be anything, especially not the best thing. As if he could actually ever see Adam as something other than the twink he hired to get a decent piece of ass. Even Lilliana has begun catching the way Adam gets lost in such stupid little follies, a game of make believe where Henrietta trash like Adam Parrish could actually live out a real life fairytale— Kate Middleton style. 

What a fucking joke. 

Adam just needs to shake it off. He needs to keep moving forwards, and cast it all to the side. To forget about Ronan fucking L and all the questions he evokes. He has a goal, and he’s not about to let it all go down the drain, not without fighting his damndest to make it out.

Through hardships to the stars.

“You telling me you don’t crave our little consultations?” Greenmantle asks, effectively dragging Adam to the present with the hungry way he eyes him up and down, smirk gone feral. It’s not a good feeling, being gazed at so lecherously, like a snack to devour and toss away until the next time he gets peckish. It’s not like Ronan’s lovely little smile had been, a tinge diffident but mostly just so electric, like he thought Adam was something wondrous.

Oh God fucking damn it.

Adam chides at himself to get a fucking grip before leveling a bored gaze over his drink at Greenmantle, corner of the lips tugged upwards and a humorless laugh pouring out of him.

“Don’t think this is more than a smash and a check,” he warns, more than a bit uncharitable.

“You’re fucking lucky I like them mean,” Greenmantle tells him before smacking Adam’s ass quick enough so that no one could’ve seen and hard enough that Adam knows it’s turning red. “Now do me a favor and don’t act like such a mother fucking alien when we talk to this jag off, got it? The fuck’s been tapped for the Speakership and I’m trying to get on that top tear.”

“America’ll be lucky to have you,” Adam sneers, completely derisive now.

“Suck my cock,” Greenmantle hisses with a grin that shows too much teeth, always just a tad too mean to ever be tolerable. 

“That’s what the check’s for,” Adam parries, faux congenial and fully over it all, winces slightly when Greenmantle elbows him in the side, hard.

“Declan,” his booming voice greets before Adam even has time to straighten, waving over to a couple that look like they’ve quite literally ben pulled out some sort of fucking Disney fairytale. 

The guy is tall and rugged, has got a nice jaw and pretty pale eyes. His arm is wrapped around the waste of a gorgeous woman— all long curls cascading down one of her shoulders, and alluringly ebony eyes teeming with warmth and flawless dark skin that Adam swears has never been met by a blemish in her life.

They’re the precise sort who should be here, representing the country’s best and brightest. Not smarmy fucks who only care about the paychecks and prestige and publicity of it all, (Read: Greenmantle), and the scum that cling onto them so that they could play the game because there’s no other choice, (Read: Adam). 

“Colin,” the Declan guy nods with a considerably less enthused tone, looks completely putout at having to interact with him. Adam feels a kinship towards them immediately.

“I wanted to expand my congratulations old friend,” Jesus can this guy sound anymore like a comic book villain? “Montgomery’s retiring and we all know you’re her most darling whip.” 

Yes. Yes he can.

“Mmm,” Declan only purses his lips, offers a nonchalant shrug of the shoulder. “Nothing’s been decided quite yet, there’s still the tedious voting process and you know our current climate, anything could happen..”

“No one would dare run against you Lynch,”Greenmantle beams, so fake it’s near suffocating. Not against the next JFK in the making!” 

And oh.

Lynch?

As in his surname starts with a L?

Declan Lynch.

Never letting any sort of emotion show on his face, Adam flickers his attention back to the apparent politician, takes a bit longer to consider him. Adam had thought he looked familiar, chopped it up to just seeing him on CNN, talking about getting the next spending bill passed or what the fuck ever, swears he’s seen those same dutiful curls and that pristine gray suit on the network before. But no, it’s beyond that. It’s the precise shade to his blue eyes, and the prominent shape of his nose. It’s how the name made it so Adam’s stomach had plunged down deep. 

Ronan L— No, Ronan Lynch. What a lovely name, a name that makes Adam’s insides sing with recognition. 

Holy shit, is this Ronan’s brother? It must be! The resemblance is uncanny. 

Adam suddenly feels frantic, terrified as if this congressman could somehow recognize him. As if he could ever be able to tell that Adam’s seen his brother naked before, that it wasn’t honestly a big deal, on account to it being Adam’s job. That no matter how often he dreamed of becoming someone like him, Adam was always just gonna end up doing this, being rented out by one person to the next. But also somehow understand that it was sort of a big deal since Adam hasn’t stopped thinking about Ronan for nearly a month, not since he had left so briskly and talked so curtly to him.

No, no way Declan could read all of that on Adam’s face… Right?

o

“We should hope not,” the woman intones, mercifully focussing Adam’s mind back to the conversation at hand and not on this potential panic attack. “I’d like it if my husband was properly alive for at least another sixty years.”

“Ah Jordan, what a sight for soar eyes,” Greenmantle pecks each of her cheeks, thinks that it makes him look distinguished, when in reality it just makes him look like an even more excruciating douche.

“I trust you’ve been well,” Jordan says, tone gone blithe. “Piper also.”

“Pipes is fantastic,” Greenmantle bellows with another too large grin, hand pushing against the small of Adam’s back so to bring him closer to the conversation. Maybe he thinks it’s a pretty picture, hopes to get rumors swirling about Declan taking him along to the top with him. Adam wonders if Greenmantle had hit his head or if the brain damage is really just his refusal to understand reality, his forceful insistence that he’s somehow liked. “She wanted to actually email you, see if you girls could hit up the town together, considering how you’re practically DC’s sweetheart even with the accent.”

“How fun for us little ladies,” Jordan says flatly, turns her attention to someone in the distance, smile gone sardonic.

“But you know Pipes, born and bread in Boston and faithful to New England over all,” Greenmantle just carries on, finally starting to sound uncomfortable.

“She’s not here with you?” Declan asks in a way that Adam knows is just his being polite.

“She’s actually visiting her father in the Italian country side, so I brought along Christopher here instead,” he jostles Adam’s arm, queue for him to smile and will himself to behave agreeably. “An old friend.”

“Old friend?” Jordan repeats, both brows hiked. “I reckon i’ve got a pair of sneakers older than he is.” 

The air goes taut, and Adam knows right then that they must be decent people if Jordan just speaks the obvious out loud like that, as if they weren’t standing on a house of cards that could tumble with the slightest tell. Especially dangerous ones that threaten to expose such an insidious faction of this crooked puzzle.

“You should treat yourself to a new set of sneakers then,” Adam says without another beat passing, tosses back his head and laughs handsomely. 

The tension melts.

Jordan chuckles— abashed— Declan reddens— just slightly— and Greenmantle gives two discrete squeezes to Adam’s side—it means he approves. It means that was too fucking close. It means he’d really like to see Adam with his legs spread and begging for his cock later tonight.

Adam is good at this, he knows that. He’s not gonna get fucking lost in the indulgence of wanting something different.

.-

Adam has got very precise goals for his life. It may seem as if he’s just wondering around— thoroughly aimless— but that’s never been the case. He’s always drafted timetables and six month plans and rinsed every possible second out of everyday. He’s never had a choice otherwise.

Case in point, Adam’s stepping off the buss after one of his more jam packed days, a morning shift at Nino’s followed by three successive classes at the local college. His bag is heavy with the papers he’s still got to start tonight, and his eyes are already drooping with exhaustion.

Adam takes a deep inhale through his nose, out his mouth, promises himself to fuck the mental gymnastics of figuring out his bank account. The second he picks up his check from the agency he’s gonna buy himself a damn six dollar caramel macchiato, and he’s gonna like it.

The elevator dings, opens on the fifth floor of the agency that moonlights as a small consulting firm that Henrietta has no business even pretending to warrant.

Adam always feels so hopeless whenever he comes around here, the sort that seeps into his bones and weighs heavy on his heart. He has to constantly envision the last time he’ll ever have to be faced with it— with the florescent lighting and shifty glances and the way it can feel like his airway is being obstructed by a cold, relentless hand wrapped around his throat.

through hardships to the stars.

He strolls to the front desk, manned by Elle. A pretty girl, with pretty blonde hair, and pretty doe eyes and pretty bubblegum nails and a smile so plastic and polished that it comes off saccharine. Sometimes Adam can’t grasp the fact that she could be the sort to not only work with the suits, but be the most vital of them all— an unassuming liaisons to stick to any questioning onlookers. But then again, it makes complete sense. After all who could ever believe that she’d be the sort to arrange all the going ons of the ugly underbelly of this place, while sitting atop the ceiling of her metaphorical glass house, in front her prim desk and never bothering to give any of it a second thought.

How wretched. 

“Adam,” she beams, high pitched and pleased. “Just the Americana prince i was looking for.”

“Only here for my check Elle,” he tells her, not wanting to extend the visit for any longer. He’s still got a whole night ahead of him.

“Course honey dumpling,” she croons, as if they weren’t practically the same age. “But before that, I had to ask. I know you usually take Wednesdays off, but I just got a call from a fella, wants you for the night.”

Adam swallows down the bile crawling up his throat at that, just snatches the slip from her hand and shakes his head no.

“I’ve got classes and another nightshift somewhere else, I can’t be smudging my schedule around. I do my hours and I give you guys the fucking cut, I don’t owe you guys anything else.”

“Hey there doll, I know, I know.” She raises her hands in mock concession, dimples back up at him as if she could charm her way back into his good graces. Adam suddenly understands Liliana’s pure hatred towards Elle specifically. “I was only asking since he was gonna pay extra for the last minute notice and all, and you’ve had him before, so I thought it’d be mutually beneficial for the pair of ya. But you’re right, you meet all the quotas, this would be just an extra job on the side. I’ll just tell Ronan you’re booked and that’ll be that.”

In an instant everything goes still, the cold grasp moves from his neck and down to Adam’s chest, squeezing with the memory of the name.

Ronan.

There’s no way it’s not him, and well fuck.

“Fine.”

Elle perks up, totally beaming now. Part of Adam would like to wipe that smug look off her face, ensure her she had no part in his deciding otherwise, but the rest of Adam can’t even bother with her warped sensibilities.

“Fine you’ll do it?” She asks, too cheerful for Adam’s liking.

“Just send me the info,” he tells her, words crisp and patience worn thin.

That’s how he ended up back on the paved streets near the private school uptown, stopping in front of Monmouth and feeling like there’s a fluttering infesting his stomach— like this were some sort of fucking first date over a business transaction. 

God Adam’s so dumb, he can’t believe that he actually excepted. He just didn’t think, just got too excited and eager and was basing his choices off emotions over practicality. He knows that Liliana would flip if she knew, and Adam deserved the scorn, but even still— he can’t help how a warm, splendid something coils deep in his gut when he knocks on Ronan’s door and is met by the same pale eyes and familiar half grin.

“Hey,” Adam breathes out. He can feel the tops of his cheeks flush at the sight of Ronan in a dark button up and skinny jeans, knows it innately that he’s not the sort to dress up willingly, not unless it was something worth while. Adam forcefully ignores the delight he feels at that, tries not to tug at his own ensemble— also a bit posher than the last time they had met.

After at least a few minutes of them just gawking at one another, Ronan clears his throat, waves him indoors. 

“So we sticking with Stefan or do you have a different name for tonight?” Is the first thing Ronan says, unwittingly making it so Adam begins to laugh.

“You really gonna start off with being all pissy I won’t tell you my real name, or you want to actually get some friction going.” Adam counters.

“Touché,” Ronan says, smile broad and eyes glimmering with a feeling Adam can’t begin to parse out, opting to cup his hands around Ronan and crash their lips together in a cacophony of lips and teeth and tongue. 

Adam's forgotten how consuming it was kissing Ronan, forgotten how dazed it makes him feel, how his toes curl and spine buzzes when Ronan fastens his hands around Adam’s waste. The intensity of the kiss is as if they’re making up for lost time, and he can’t fathom stopping.

“You smell good,” Ronan tells him, seems to have not realized what he was saying because he goes a fetching scarlet the moment the words pour out.

Adam bites down on his bottom lip, turns his face to try and shield his smile away from him.

“Nice to see you too.” 

“Christ I’m mortifying,” Ronan blanches, and Adam can’t help but find it so maddeningly endearing. 

“You’re cute,” Adam corrects, hip checks him before depositing himself on the same spot as before. The two doors to the side are both closed just like last time, and Adam wonders again who his roommates are, wonders why Ronan would choose to rent someone like Adam over actually just finding a date to bring home. Adam studiously ignores the twist of jealousy that seizes his gut at the thought. Shakes it off and chides at himself, this is not some sort of a date, it’s a fucking job.

“You know, I’ve never been called that before?” Ronan says while padding off to the kitchen, maybe getting them a couple of drinks. “Sexy, hot, a hellion even. Never cute.”

Adam snorts loud enough so he’ll hear. 

“You’re a kitten posturing as a lion, I can see right through your act.” 

When Ronan walks back in with the predicted beverages and a couple takeout containers of what Adam can only guess is some chicken fried rice, his smile is genuine and eyes are gleeful. 

“I gotta say man, that really brings down the ego.”

Adam only frowns at him.

“What’s this?”

Ronan doesn’t meet his gaze.

“Work ran late, so didn’t have time to actually scruff down some shit before you came,” he explains without a breath between words, as if he were nervous about it, inhibited even. “I’d like it if I wasn’t starving all God damn night.”

Adam doesn’t reply, only nudges his head towards the spare plate, hopes it gets across the message that this is too close to crossing a line— Too dangerous.

“Oy, you look like you’re a hundred fifty pounds soaking wet, ’s not like this shit’ll make you suddenly go over your four percent body fat limit.”

Adam glares at him with feeling, flips him the bird for good measure too, but ultimately just picks up the fork and follows his lead.

“So work….” Adam starts after a few minutes of silence. “It’s going well then? After the opening and all?”

Ronan momentarily freezes mid bite, eyes boring into Adam’s with sudden intensity that makes it so he squirms in his seat at having it directed onto him, unadulterated and so fucking open.

“Yeah, yeah it’s going great. We’ve already found a new artist from the city we’d like to create an exhibit for. Hennessy’s even mocking up some ideas to put together an after school program for the kids at Mountain View, you know the ones who have two working parents or just don’t want to go home yet.”

Adam’s breath stutters, his ribcage breaking open. And he wants to scream at him. Tell Ronan to look! Look damn it! He’s right here! He knows those kids because he was those kids. He wants Ronan to know that about him, to be assured that the plan they have is so miraculous. Wants to tel him that if there was something like that for when he was a kid maybe shit would be different.

But no, he doesn’t. He can’t.

That’s too real, too honest, too potentially incriminating. That’s not what this is. Not what this is suppose to be.

With a deep inhale, Adam pushes the food to the side, and struts forwards to saddle around Ronan’s lap, plunges forwards so that he can devour him once more. 

Ronan goes rigid for a moment before taking the hint and rocking up, squeezing Adam closer.

“I’d Really. Like to. Get you naked.” Adam tells him, punctured with kisses to the corner of Ronan’s mouth, the hinge of his jaw, landing on the hollow of his neck before sucking on the skin there.

“Yee—“ Ronan squeaks out. “Yeah me too.”

In one fluid motion, he stands up— Adam’s leg’s wrapped around him and there lips still slanting against one anothers— and he practically sprints back to his room, kicking the door shut and collapsing the pair of them onto the duvet.

“Fuck you’re heavier than you look,” Ronan pants, hands caressing patches of bare skin beneath Adam’s shirt.

“The lithe mussels, they’re deceptive,” Adam boasts, arches up when Ronan finally slips off his shirt and kisses across his chest. It’s such a unnervingly delightful feeling, the soft pecks preceding the even softer way he rubs small circles into his skin— equal parts reverent and wanting.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Ronan divulges, his voice barely above a whisper while he mouths against the fair hair dusting Adam’s six pack, trailing down to his crotch. “I couldn’t get you out of my fucking head. COuldn’t stop thinking of your face,” (he thumbs open Adam’s jeans, kisses the skin right below his bellybutton.) “Your hands.” (He kisses the wrist of the hand that’s knotted itself into his short curls.) “You’re mother fucking laugh.” 

Adam seeps in a breath at the sudden cold he feels when Ronan drags down his briefs, eyes swallowing him whole. 

“All I wanted to do is get your dick in my mouth, I couldn’t believe I didn’t do that before. I’m such a fucking idiot.” Ronan falls back so that his nose is buried into Adam’s thigh and the hot tendrils of his breath are skirting against his cock.

Adam can’t help it when he twitches forwards trying to capture the warmth.

“Jesus Ronan stop talking about it and just do it already,” he says, near yearning. 

Ronan’s grin goes predatory, as if all he was waiting for was Adam’s queue. 

“Oh wait, Wait!” 

Adam pulls out a condom from his now disregarded jeans, presses it into Ronan’s hand. Technically blowjobs don’t require the precaution and Adam knows he’s clean, just got his six week check up last weekend, but he’d like to be careful with him. Wants to make sure that nothing ever bad happens to Ronan, especially when it’s something Adam could prevent.

“Oh, ah right.” the ends of his mouth turn down, only slightly, but thankfully Ronan doesn’t argue him on it. “Now where were we?”

“Sound more like a porn star, I dare you,” Adam chuckles, breath catching when Ronan nips at the skin of his thigh in retaliation.

“I’ll show you a porn star.”

Adam comes to the immediate conclusion that Ronan’s mouth should be declared illegal, public enemy number one.

“Oh,” Adam gasps when Ronan sucks in the tip, a crazy amount of sensations tingling through him at that first contact alone.

Benevolently, Ronan finally wraps a hand around the shaft, squeezes lightly before twisting and taking in more of Adam, sucking him in before pulling off teasingly, a dichotomy right on this edge of painful but makes Adam buck up his hips even harder, chasing the warmth. 

“God you’re so fucking difficult, literally always,” Adam groans, hates how familiar of a statement that comes off, but can’t help but preen at the way it makes Ronan’s expression go ebullient.

“Man I want to savor this a little, was a long fucking time coming.”

Adam drapes his arm over his eyes, tries his hardest to stay put, but nearly has a stroke when Ronan sucks one of Adam’s balls into his fucking demonic mouth.

“Evil fuck.”

Adam can feel the vibrations of Ronan’s laughter, hates that he finds that attractive also.

“You’re so hot,” Ronan tells him, minutes later, but Adam can’t respond in time before Ronan strokes a singular finger into his hole, swiftly snatching away any ability Adam has ever had to form words. “So good.” He digs deeper, curves his finger the same time he thumbs at a ball.

Adam eye’s are completely squeezed shut, breaths going labored and a frankly obscene sound shaking out of him.

“C’mon, c’mon baby.” Ronan begs. “You can cum, it’s fine, we’ve got all night.” He puts his mouth back around Adam’s dick and he sucks with such fierceness that knocks out all of Adam’s self control. He sees flashing white the same time that Ronan adds another finger and he thrusts upwards just once more, white stripes gushing out of him and some even spilling out the condom.

He only notices after everything starts coming into focus that Ronan’s kissing different points of his body— carrying him through it— continuing to thumb at a particular spot in Adam’s inner thigh all the while.

“It’s latin,” Ronan says once Adam’s breaths even out and they’re lying side to side once more, though Ronan’s hand never does leave that spot.

“Yeah, yeah it is,” Adam yawns, eyelids heavy and somehow already feeling spent. Fuck, he’s exhausted. It’s been such a long day and he never did grab that macchiato.

“It’s really pretty, it means through hardships to the stars, doesn’t it?” Ronan asks, voice gentle as he grabs the comforter to drape over them.

“You know Latin?” Adam asks, snuggles deeper into the mattress.

“Yeah, I learned in school.” Ronan says, continues staring down at him. Silence collapses over the pair of them, the unspoken question of why Adam had gotten it done radiating around Ronan, and Adam’s refusal to answer staving it away.

“You got any other plans for tonight?” Adam finally asks him instead, turning his head so that there noses touch.

“You bet your ass,” Ronan smirks, but still looks at him like Adam’s a delicate china doll. “But I think first we should take a nap, just to regain some energy and all.”

“You sound like an old fucking man.” Adam laughs.

“Yo, maybe I am fuck face.” Ronan sniffs.

“These little nicknames are really doing it for me,” Adam tells him mid yawn.

“Well get use to it till I find out your actual name darling.” 

“Back to sounding like a retired citizen I see?” Adam says, feels the temptation of sleep dragging him under.

THe last thing he hears is Ronan quipping about trying to make the early bird special.

It’s the first time in a long time Adam’s heart feels light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know how to feel about this chapter, like at all. It's definitely a transition chapter just to establish some plot points and such, but I don't think it hits the right way and I've just been staring at it for forever and can't figure out how to fix it :(
> 
> But in good news, chapter three is definitely already my favorite and there's so much more smutt and so so much more Ronan and just like a lot of fluff and such that I'm just always a fan of,
> 
> I'm sorry if this chapter is disappointing but I promise the next will be so much better<3
> 
> It would still mean the entire universe to me if you were to leave a comment below letting me know what you thought!!! Truly I'd appreciate it so much, i promise to bring you a three cheese omelet in bed ;)
> 
> With Love   
> ~Len

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so so much for the gorgeous souls who read this! It would mean the galaxy and stars to me if someone maybe left me a comment below letting me know what they thought!!!
> 
> Come scream at me on [Tumblr](http://LiterallyLen.tumblr.com)
> 
> With love  
> ~Len


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